, 1887-09-15
WEBSTER'S DEATH.
HOW THE SAD NEWS WAS FIRST
BROUGHT FROM MARsHFlELD.

Eben Gains Wonderful Ride One Sun
day Morning In 1924 Little
sprnined Mare Carries the Dispatch
Bearer Ahead OF Everything Else.
Well over on Fort Hill street, in West
bingham, lives Eben Wheeler Cain. He is
the man who first carried the news of the
death of Daniel Webster to Boston. He rode
from Marshfield on the morning of Sunday,
Oct. "a. 1852, in the time intervening between
$3.50 and 6 by the Old South clock. His was
the credit that The Gazette was able to print
the last words of the dying statesman three
hours before the other paper could. Eben
Cain is full Of wit, too, as well as remi-
niscence, as many an old expressman can
testify. In Tucker's "Way Bills" this story
is told of him:
One morning which succeeded a night of
hilarity-the occasion being the annual ez-
pressmen's sleigh ride-he was accosted by a
fellow driver with: "Cain, were you the man
that slew Abel3'
"No," says Eben, Al was the man that was
s,ewed."
Chen Cain is OF now. He stopped driving
for Adams half a dozen years ago, but he
seems just as vigorous as he ever did. He
farms it a little around his house, that stands
u Jan " bbp AOhA1 oANA Aht bCCd NoiO
of his good wife. l was asking him the other
day about his ride from Marsh1- Id.
"Well," the tall, brown armed, gray
whiskered man said, ~ went down twice,
you know. Jack Clapp we used to call
him-yes, Col Clapp, OF The journal, of The
Gazette then-lives down here on Jerusalem
road summers-he got me to go. Webster
died of a Sunday morning. We went down
first Saturday. George Blanchard, the agent
of the Associated Press, a straight Teller with
white specs, wanted me to go. John Bradley,
then of The Times, and since dead in Califor-
mia, went with me for company. We went
over to Jim Mullam's stable and got a four
wheel trotting gig; we wanted to get back by
l2, in time to telegraph to New York-and-
well, we shifted bosses at George French's, in
Quincy, Wash French's father, and again at
John Prouty's in Scituate. 1t was thirty-six
miles to Marshfield, over the Queen Anne
turnpike, through Pembroke.
THE LITTLE WHITE MARE.
1--WE got his condition-no change" the
messenger continued, land come home.
Bradley stopped to chat at French's, and there
was a fellow named Huntress who wanted to
make a dollar. he hitched up a racker to
get our news to Boston ahead of us. But on
the old bridge-Federal street, now-we over
took him. The draw was up, and he had to
wait, and l tell you we ratified into town to-
gether a~-spankfng.
"Well, l went about my regular work for
Harnden-one team used to do all his work
then-when in comes Clapp and asks me if
there is a man there by the name of Cain,
and wants to know if l will go to Marshfield
for hire same as 1 did for the Associated
Press. says yes, if the boss is willing; he
says yes, II l want to go. So l went over to
Josh Stuart's stable, on School street this
time, where the Parker house is now. He
said he had n good roader for me, and l took
him and an open buggy. Well, l goes down
and gets as far as French's, and he says:
'Eben, I've got a spawned nag here that will
go like thunder. but you won't know it when
she's gee forty rod, and you'd better take
her. John Prouty he had a little white mare
for me, and says he; If you give her the
rein on the way home she'll fetch you right
here to the door, So l took her and got there
and some of the servants put up my boss in
the stable-the servants swarmed around
there like bees-and l went into a private Ii
brary there was there to one side, where there
were fifteen or twenty OF them sitting by the
fireplace-one of those where you can burn
logs four feet long. There was Peter Har-
vey, Webster's particular friend, and j. w.
Page, l think, the dry goods man on Frank
lin street, and some more; and pretty soon
down comes Mr.. Marsh, Of The Bee. Mr..
Gill, of The Gazette, had been down and gone
away at 10, and 1 was to wait till Webster
died. They invited Marsh into the house,
and some one says to mel told 'em I was
from Mr.. ~Clapp-that 1 had better get som
rest-l had been up two nights, you know,
and just rode seventy-two miles-so l laid
down on a lounge. Great fellow to run ex-
press and go to sleep, ehp
aWbat TINA wos tbatW I oskad
''rhat was early Sunday morning, " the old
expressman said. "Well, 1 was q going to
tell you. IT wa'n't two minutes, seems SO,
before I woke up and heard Mr.. Marsh's man
say: Il want my horse quick as you can; Mr..
Webster's dead.'n